Almost There
by Pipergirl17
Summary: A sequel to A Deal's A Deal. Daryl musters up the courage to ask Beth out on a date, fulfilling her third expectation. A summer storm, however, puts a damper in their plans. Stuck at home, with nowhere to go, whatever shall they do? M for a reason, folks!


**A/N:** I must admit I'm still flabbergasted by the reaction A Deal's A Deal, my first Daryl/Beth fic, garnered. I couldn't have anticipated so many lovely reviews and I'd like to thank each and every one of you for your kind words (I know I didn't get a chance to thank everyone personally-real life sort of got in the way of that, despite my intentions).

Thanks to those wonderful comments, my muse's cup runneth over-therefore I now have a second fic that picks up where the first one left off. To switch things up a bit, this story is from Daryl's perspective-I thought it would be nice to offer a glimpse of what's going on his his mind. My intention was to have this as the introduction to a trip to the fair, but it ran off in a much different direction and does a great job as a standalone.

Hats off to my beta Xtie for her help-she keeps my grammar in check and catches those many instances where I seem to use the same word over and over again. (At least I've stopped overusing 'that'!)

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><p>Daryl pulled into his driveway and cut the engine, staring ahead at his house. His heart sank when he saw the lights were still on-it meant Merle was up, most likely as eager as anything to grill his 'baby bro' on the juicy details of his date.<p>

He sighed, stepping out of the truck. He'd been in a good mood on the drive back, replaying his evening with Beth, remembering the feel of her beneath him, all soft touches and gentle sighs. Their talk about work had also been on his mind, especially the bit about having money in his pocket that didn't have anything to do with drugs or stolen goods. Her reaction had surprised him-she had neither encouraged nor discouraged him, instead zeroing on the mess it would create with his brother. She seemed to have an uncanny knack for understanding his family dynamics.

He knew how Merle would react to him trying to go on the straight and narrow, though. He'd throw him the same old bullshit he always did: "ain't nobody gonna care about ya like I do", or "ain't worth tryin' cause no one's gonna hire redneck trash like you, baby bro". Those lines had always worked in the past because Daryl'd never had a reason to believe otherwise.

But now he had Beth. And Beth had shown him that people didn't treat him like shit because he was a redneck or because they thought they were better than him, but because he treated them like shit first.

He'd tested her theory out when he'd stopped at Sam's Food Mart to buy more smokes, nodding at the man behind the counter in greeting and then thanking him. Instead of eyeing him suspiciously like he always did, the older man smiled and made small talk, asking him if the heat had let up any. It was a surreal experience for him, to have people treat him civilly, but what was more surprising was how much he'd enjoyed it.

_Might as well get it over with_, he thought to himself as he trudged up the walk to the front door, stepping around a pile of lumber one of Merle's friends had dropped off earlier that week-most likely Ed, stealing stuff off a construction site again.

As soon as he'd opened the screen door, Merle's voice called out from the living room. "Darylina! Back already?! S'only ten thirty!" He taunted, his words slurred.

"Christ," Daryl muttered under his breath. "Yeah, 'm back," he called out louder so Merle could hear him. He stopped at the fridge to grab himself a beer but thought better of it. What he really wanted was to go to bed and sort out all the thoughts bouncing around in his head.

Merle appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. Not for the first time he reminded Daryl of their father. He had the same build as Will Dixon, but it was his stance that did it, stooped, unsteady on his feet, half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Red dangling from his fingertips.

But his brother didn't elicit the same fear his dad once had and Daryl met his gaze squarely before sitting down at the table, perusing the front page of the local paper.

"Well?" Merle finally asked. He'd never been the patient one.

"Well what?" Daryl replied, not giving anything away. He scanned an article about an upcoming antiques sale, waiting for his brother to take the bait.

Merle let out a raspy chuckle. "That bad, huh? Toldja she'd be stuck up. Them artsy chicks are all like that-no time o' day for a regular guy like you."

Daryl bristled at the inference but didn't take the bait. Without looking up from the paper he replied. "Had us a nice dinner at Rosie's, then we went for a drive outside o' town."

When he was met with an unexpected silence he finally looked up. Merle stood there frowning, his whiskey-addled mind trying to figure out whether his younger brother was serious.

"You ain't shittin' me, are ya?" He asked, realizing that Daryl was telling the truth.

"Nope. Matter o' fact she's expectin' me to ask her on a second date." He pointed to the paper. "I'm thinkin' she might like to go to the antiques sale they're havin' on the fairgrounds; she mentioned something about needin' some more furniture for her apartment."

Merle stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Christ almighty," he said, still dead serious. "What'd she do, let you give it to her up the ass?"

Daryl stood up suddenly, his chair tilting precariously before setting back on its four legs. He took a deep breath, trying his damnedest not to let Merle goad him into a fight, and gripped the corners of the table. "Beth's a good woman, Merle. You'll do good to remember that when you're talkin' 'bout her. She's the only person who's treated me half-decent in a long while."

Despite his inebriety, the elder Dixon seemed to understand the gravity of his brother's statement. "Come on, baby bro," he pleaded with a weak chuckle. "I've always had yer back."

He'd always expected there would be a lot more yelling involved when this conversation finally took place. Maybe some punches thrown in for good measure, too-that was usually how their 'discussions' ended. He'd imagined it a dozen different ways over the past twenty years at least, but none of them involved having a rational talk. "No ya haven't. I been beside you and behind you, but I ain't never been ahead of you. Ain't no one in this world more important to you than yerself, Merle. You put me down cause it makes ya feel better 'bout yerself. I spent my whole life hearin' how no one's ever gonna like me, no one's ever gonna respect me an' I always thought you were doin' it for my own good. But you were doin' it for you so you don't end up alone like Dad."

A few steps took him across the kitchen to where his brother stood. "We're family and ain't nothing ever gonna change that, Merle. But it's time for me to get out from under yer shadow."

"You go ahead," his brother countered, his voice as quiet as Daryl's, "but I don't wanna hear any bitchin' when she gets tired o' hearin' about crossbows and guttin' squirrels. It's only ever been the two of us an' that's all it's ever gonna be, baby bro."

Merle was right on one count-it always _had_ been just the two of them. But it wouldn't always be like that. His brother might have seen their time as rosy, but if it was a bed of roses Merle got the flowers and Daryl had been stuck with all of the thorns.

"No it ain't. I'm done bein' yer bitch. Shoulda been done years ago." He walked by his brother, shifting to avoid the hand that shot out to stop him. When he walked to his bedroom and quietly closed the door behind him, he was surprised to find out he wasn't angry so much as tired. Tired of Merle and his bullshit, tired of being a 39 year old with nothing to his name but his crossbow, and tired of living in a dump. He looked at his room, disgusted with the mess to which he had become accustomed; it only took a few minutes of tidying to make it look half-decent-picking clothes up off the floor, stacking magazines, picking up empty bottles. He even changed the sheets on his bed, the mundane task keeping his mind occupied.

Daryl stared at the phone he'd unearthed from underneath a pile of clothes and considered calling Beth but thought better of it-she had said, after all, that she had to turn in early because of work.

He felt like such a pussy sitting by a phone hemming and hawing over whether or not to call a girl. That inner monologue was Merle's voice, though. And his dad's voice. All the negative shit that had been drilled into him over the years-it was hard not to listen to it, not to believe it. It was instinct by now, was just the way his mind worked.

But once he pushed through the dark thoughts and forced himself to rationally assess the situation, he didn't feel so much like a loser. It was a pretty sure bet Beth'd enjoy the antiques market-it seemed like the sort of thing she'd be into, seeing as she was artsy and community-minded. She'd probably know everyone and have a smile and kind words for them, too.

He undressed, tossing his clothes haphazardly on the floor before catching himself-that would be a hard habit to break. He picked them up and placed them on top of the hamper, turned his light off and let himself fall back onto his bed.

Despite his fatigue his mind spun in circles, from Beth to Merle to finding a job and back again. It finally settled on the young woman, the recent memory of her warm smile, soft skin, and quiet sighs lulling him into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning Daryl found out there isn't all that much to asking a girl out on a date when she's as eager as you are to meet up again.<p>

The worst, really, had been drumming up the courage to actually make the call. He'd spent ten minutes staring at the phone as if it had herpes and then five more minutes picking the receiver up and hanging up. It was at the point where he caught himself doodling around the phone number she'd written down for him that he gave himself a figurative kick in the seat, Dixon-style. "Fer fuck's sake, quit pussyin' around an' call her already," he growled before picking up the phone and dialling Beth's number.

"Hi Daryl," she answered, her voice sweet and a little shy.

"How'd ya know it was me?" Daryl asked, perplexed. Had she been expecting him to call so soon?

Beth laughed. "I entered your number in my phone, remember? Your name popped up on the screen when it rang."

"Oh." He didn't have much experience with cell phones so he took her word for it. He was still trying to figure out what to say next-did he have to make small talk or just go ahead and ask?-when she spoke up.

"I... I had a nice time last night," she whispered as if trying to keep the conversation away from prying ears.

He couldn't help but smile, her admission taking a weight off his shoulders. "Me too," he admitted. _Go ahead, here's your chance._ "Look, I'm callin' cause there's an antiques fair comin' to town next weekend an' I was wonderin' if ya wanted to go with me. Ya don't have to if you don't..."

"Yes! I'd love to!" She replied, cutting him off. "I was readin' about it in the paper last night and was hopin' to find someone to go with." She paused, before adding playfully, "like, a good-lookin' guy with a pickup truck..."

Daryl chuckled. "In that case I can see if Merle's free on Saturday..."

"No!" The young woman interjected, laughing loudly. "Don't you dare!"

"Don't worry," he reassured her, "I'd rather keep you all to m'self anyway."

He could almost hear her smile, if that was possible. "I'd rather that, too. Why don't you pick me up at my place at nine thirty on Saturday morning? That'll give us lots o' time to look around before the crowds get too thick."

"Sounds fair to me. Let me find somethin' to write with so I can take your address down; can never find a friggin' pen that works 'round here. Hold on." Daryl put the phone down and walked over to the living room to where Merle kept his New York Times crossword puzzle, grabbing the pen that was clipped to the paper. It was the only sure bet for finding a working pen in less than ten minutes-he'd just have to remember to return it or else he'd never hear the end of it.

When he picked the phone back up, Beth was singing to herself-her voice was lovely and he was tempted to stay silent just to hear more. Instead, he cleared his throat, regretting it when the singing stopped. "Found one," he confirmed, reaching for an envelope that was lying within easy reach. He took down the address she gave him and, after a brief good-bye, hung up the phone.

Hearing Merle snoring from where he'd passed out in the living room, Daryl came to the realisation that asking the girl out had been the easy part.

The hard part was going to be convincing his brother to lend him the truck once again. Some days Merle would just as soon burn his own truck down than lend it to him; the only thing Daryl could do was try and catch him in a generous mood.

* * *

><p>When Saturday morning arrived, Daryl was more on edge than usual. He sat at the kitchen table, his leg bouncing nervously. He'd been staring at the front page of the paper, trying to focus on a story about a local war vet who was trying to reintegrate with society, when Merle threw his spoon down in his bowl with a clang.<p>

"Daryl, if you don't chill out, I swear I'm gonna tie you up and take 'er out to the fair myself."

Instead of arguing back, the younger Dixon stopped fidgeting and gave his brother a nod. "Sorry, man. I'm just… dunno, nervous I guess."

Merle gave him a patient, exasperated look. "Ya screwed her."

Daryl stared at him from under his bangs. "Yeah," he replied, unsure where his brother was going.

"And she agreed to go to the fair with ya."

"Well, yeah, course she agreed."

"Then stop actin' like a fuckin' pussy. You got nothin' to worry 'bout-from the sounds of it, she likes ya. Just take it at face value." He shook his head and walked towards the front door. "I'll be back on Monday-Martinez needs a backup man for some shopping. You have fun at your 'fair'," he added, chuckling.

_Typical Merle_, Daryl thought as he heard the rumble of his brother's chopper. In one sentence he'd gone from offering sound brotherly advice, to admitting he was going to spend the weekend stealing, to mocking him. He sighed, folding the paper in defeat-there was no way he had the attention span at that point to read much more than the funnies.

The phone rang just as he was tossing the paper in the garbage. He walked over and picked it up. "'Lo?"

"Hi," Beth said, sounding like she was on a cell phone. "I just remembered that I have to stop by the store an' pick something up. Is it okay if I drive to your place, then we could go to the fair from there?"

"Fine by me," he replied, pushing away the feeling she was going to stand him up. His inner voice was already chiding him for thinking that someone as young and pretty as Beth would really be interested in seeing him again.

There was a pause before she spoke again. This time she sounded shyer, a little bit less sure of herself. "Can't wait to see you again. Been waitin' all week for this; Lynn's been teasin' me somethin' fierce."

Her admission made Daryl smile. It looked like he wasn't the only one who'd spent the week thinking about their date, and the realisation pushed away his self-doubt. "Me too, 'cept Merle was the one doin' the teasin'. Was probably a fair bit more graphic about it than Lynn was, though."

Beth laughed. "Poor you-I hope he didn't make you too uncomfortable."

"Nah, I'm used to it by now. Merle's just... well, he's just Merle. Ya gotta have tough skin 'round him, s'all." What he didn't admit, though, was that some of Merle's 'brotherly advice' had him blushing six ways to Sunday.

"I guess you really must be used to it, livin' with him an' all." He heard a car door slam in the background, followed by the start of an engine. "I'm leavin' right now an' should be at your place by nine thirty at the latest."

Daryl looked over at the clock on the wall and saw that it was quarter to nine. "Sounds good," he replied. "See you then." He hung up the phone after she said goodbye and then looked at the state of the house.

Beer bottles, liquor bottles, take-out containers, newspapers, dirty dishes, overflowing ashtrays... Until then he'd never given a rat's ass about the condition of his house; he and Merle both had days where they reached their breaking point, but those were few and far between. And although he knew Beth wouldn't judge him, or wouldn't comment on the mess, he felt compelled to make a good impression.

Rolling up his sleeves-figuratively, of course-he dug in, intent on making as much of a dent in the mess as possible.

* * *

><p>Daryl stood at the sink washing the last of the dishes when he heard a car approaching. He looked out the window and saw Beth's car pull up along the curb in front of his house.<p>

Focused on the task at hand he hadn't noticed how dark the skies had become, the ominous grey clouds telling him they were in for one hell of a summer storm.

He watched Beth dash from her car to his front door, a rectangular parcel firmly tucked under her arm, trying to beat the rain. Just as she cleared the threshold, the skies opened up.

"Looks like I made it inside just in the nick of time," she laughed, trying to catch her breath from the sprint. While her gaze was focused outside on the torrential rain, Daryl stood behind her, mesmerized by the sight of her in a pink dress, her hair up in a ponytail-she looked so _pure_. It had been a long, long time since there had been a woman in his house, and none of them had ever been as good for him as Beth.

She turned around to face him. "Hi," she said, smiling shyly.

"Hi," he replied, standing a few feet from her, not sure what to do with himself. His fingers itched to reach out to her, to feel the softness of her skin beneath their calloused touch, but he was uncertain. Uncertain if it was appropriate or if the desire would be reciprocated.

Instead his fingers curled into fists at his sides and he looked down at his feet, frustrated with his inexperience-it'd be easier if he just knew what to do, what to say. _Merle'd know what to do_, he thought bitterly.

He'd forgotten one thing, however: Beth also knew what to do.

Bridging the gap between them the young woman reached out and took his hand in hers. "Daryl," she coaxed.

He looked up, saw the patient and understanding blue of her gaze, and felt his apprehension dissipate.

"Not sure what to do," he admitted, shrugging.

"What is it you want to do?"

"Kiss you," he replied breathlessly, without hesitation.

"Well," she said in a tone that implied it was the most obvious thing in the world, "kiss me, then."

But it wasn't obvious to Daryl, wasn't something that came natural to him.

Yet here Beth was, wanting to see him again, wanting him to kiss her again, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Hell, he could count on one hand the number of women he'd kissed more than once, and none of them could hold a candle to her.

Enough was enough, though, and he was through with wasting time worrying about everything. _Ain't never gonna accomplish nothin' by sittin' on yer ass_, Merle had told him time and time again when he was a kid. _You want somethin', you go git it._

It was the best advice his brother had ever lent him.

Daryl reached out and gently cupped a hand against the side of her neck, his thumb brushing her jaw. He leaned in and paused a hair's breadth from her mouth, feeling a warm puff of air escape her parted lips. The first sweep of his lips was light, tentative, as if he were giving her the opportunity to pull back. When she sighed and pushed forward, her free hand twisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, he gave in to the desire that had been building over the course of the past week.

The kiss quickly intensified and Daryl's hand shot out to her side, holding her tightly to him. The closer he held her, though, the more he became aware of something sharp digging onto his side. He reluctantly pulled back, taking a moment to regain his senses, and his gaze flicked to the parcel she was holding.

"Here," she said, handing it to him. Her cheeks were still flushed, her ponytail askew from where he'd pulled it. It was everything for him not to toss the parcel aside and haul her over his shoulder to take her to his bedroom.

Instead, Daryl accepted it, frowning. "For me?" He asked, walking over to the kitchen and setting it down on the table.

"For you an' Merle," she replied, shrugging. "I guess it's a thank you, sorta."

He stared at her for a moment and she returned his gaze unabashedly, her eyes warm and friendly. "Well, go on," she prodded, "open it up so you can see what it is."

"A'right, a'right," he replied, unable to hide a smirk at her obvious excitement. "Pushy woman," he added under his breath, chuckling when she stuck her tongue out at him. He plucked a knife from the sheath on his belt and carefully unwrapped the gift, peeling away the layers of paper until he was holding a framed picture.

It was a black and white photograph of his house, professionally framed and matted. Daryl stared at it, confused; then it dawned on him that it was a picture she'd taken that first day they'd met, when he'd saved her from Merle's advances.

He'd always hated the house, right from the day he, Merle and their father had moved in. It had already been run down back then, dark, dirty and ugly, especially to an eleven year old. Years of neglect after that hadn't made it any more of a home-if anything it seemed to loom even more uninviting than ever.

The longer he stared at the photograph, though, the more Beth's vision revealed itself to him. Somehow, she had managed to convey her own impressions through the image; it was as if he was seeing it through her eyes, understanding how her mind was processing what it saw. It was as if she'd managed to tell an entire story in one frame-where the house had been, what it had witnessed in its years, what its story was.

He felt her nestle herself into his side, loosely wrapping an arm around his waist. "You're bein' awfully quiet," she commented, her voice quiet and tentative.

"I'm appreciatin' the artwork," he replied, giving her a side glance. "I can see what you were talkin' 'bout, with seein' the house's character an' all. It's nice-I like it." She returned his gaze, her blue eyes dancing, and gave him a smile that made him want to move mountains. Beth was so genuinely nice that he found it difficult to take it at face value; there were no ulterior motives, no hidden agenda-there was just whatever was written plainly on her face.

Daryl placed the picture down flat on the table and turned to face her, unsure of what to do next. This was still all so new for him, this... whatever it was he had with Beth. He'd never had a girlfriend before-nothing that involved more than the occasional booty call-and he'd certainly never been with anyone who wasn't hanging around for a drink or for Merle's drugs.

But Beth was here for _him_. Not for drugs, not for booze, and certainly not for Merle.

She jumped when a loud clap of thunder boomed. "Guess we ain't goin' to the fair in this weather," she said. She sighed dramatically, shrugging. "Looks like we'll just have find somethin' else to pass the time."

Daryl frowned, wondering what she meant until she arched an eyebrow, staring at him like she couldn't believe he hadn't caught on. The realisation that she still wanted him lit a fire in deep in his belly. He reached out and skimmed a calloused finger down her arm, the sun-kissed skin soft beneath his touch. "Somethin' to pass the time, huh?" He repeated. "I'm gonna guess you ain't talkin' 'bout readin' the Bible together."

He slid his fingers back upwards until they alighted on her collarbone. Beth made a satisfied humming sound, leaning into his touch. "Not exactly what I had in mind, no," she admitted, reaching out to cup his cheek in her hand. She leaned forward, rising up on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his.

Lightning flashed brightly, followed by another loud clap of thunder. The rain was still driving hard, large drops pelting the house's awnings, the strong wind coming in through the kitchen window and blowing the papers he'd stacked up off the counter.

The pace of their kiss quickly caught up with that of the tempest outside, the embrace becoming frenzied and needy. Somehow they'd moved until Beth was caught between him and one of the kitchen walls, and Daryl took the opportunity to let his mouth and hands wander over the increasingly familiar territory of her soft curves.

His head swam from all the sensations that were hitting him at once: the salty tang of her skin, the heat of her body, the soft mewling sounds she was making. As his lips reclaimed hers hungrily, his mouth slanting against hers, tongues dancing, his fingers skimmed up her thighs, gathering the skirt of her dress on their ascent.

When he got to the waistband of her panties, tickling the smooth skin just above, Beth reached between them and tugged at his belt, somehow managing to undo it on her first try. Her deft fingers worked on his fly but faltered when he brought his hand to her front, slipping one finger inside her.

She was already wet for him, her panties soaked.

"Sweet Christ," he panted, dropping his forehead to the curve where her neck and shoulder met. He tentatively trailed his finger along her cleft, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves at each circuit.

He wanted to please her, to be the kind of guy who could do more than just get his rocks off during sex-after all, he had promised to do right by her the next time they got together.

Beth gasped. Her hands pulled away from his jeans, shooting up to grip his biceps. He raised his head and her eyes met his, the blue of her irises nearly devoured by her pupils, before she tilted her head back and let out a low moan.

"Yes," she exhaled, standing on her tiptoes in an effort to grind against his hand. The sight alone was enough to drive a man insane.

Daryl curled his free arm around her waist, but he couldn't have said if it was to keep Beth or himself up.

Emboldened by her reaction to his ministrations, he inserted two fingers inside her, circling her clit with his thumb. "I want you to come for me, Beth," he whispered in her ear, feeling her motions become more jerky and uncoordinated.

"Don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstop," she begged, taking in short, shallow, lungfuls of air, pressing herself more desperately against him. Then suddenly she paused, not moving, not breathing, before letting out a keening wail, riding out her climax.

When she managed to gather her bearings she leaned forward and crushed her mouth to his in a messy, needy embrace. Her hands flew back to his pants, clumsily pushing them down as far as she could reach without breaking the kiss.

Daryl swatted at her uncoordinated efforts. "You take care o' yours an' I'll take care o' mine," he grunted, shimmying out of his pants and underwear while she did the same.

When he straightened up he took a step towards her and placed one hand on her thigh, moving it upward.

Beth's eyes were still dark and focused on him, her lips slightly parted. She reached out and took him in her hand, stroking his cock with a slow, deliberate pace. Her knee was raised and resting against his hip, opening her up to him, but she was too short for him to take her in that pose.

Daryl reached behind her and, cupping his hands under her ass, raised her so he could slide in effortlessly. They both let out a groan when he was finally sheathed inside her, surrounded by her moist heat.

He couldn't put his thumb on it-it wasn't like he had many lucid faculties left at this point anyway-but this time felt like no other before it. It was as if she was burning him, as if he was hyper-sensitive. Was this what it felt like to make love? He'd always considered the notion of it utterly ridiculous, but perhaps he'd been wrong all those years-perhaps there really _was_ a difference between casual sex and being with someone you cared about.

He leaned forward and claimed her lips, kissing her thoroughly, trying to communicate how he felt through a kiss rather than through words which always failed him.

And then a niggling thought pressed its way through his lust, something just on the periphery of his...

"Shit!" He exclaimed, ceasing all movements but not pulling out. He leaned back, still holding her in place, trying to suss out how the hell neither of them thought of it.

"What?" Beth asked, her brows creased in concern.

"I ain't wearin' a condom." _No wonder it felt different_, he chastised himself. _Didn't have nothin' to do with makin' love or such nonsense._

"Do you have any in the house?" Her tone was almost panicked; she worried her lip with her teeth and moaned when he adjusted their position to avoid dropping her. It was one thing to hold a girl up in the heat of the moment, but once the adrenaline wore off it could get a bit tricky.

"In my room," he replied. "Hold on."

He set her down, almost groaning in disappointment at having to pull out of her, and then picked her back up, cradling her in his arms.

As he walked through the house he had the ludicrous idea of giving Beth a tour. _There's Merle's room, that's the bathroom, that's dad's room-haven't been in there since he died..._ Instead he kept his mouth shut and carried her to his bedroom.

Daryl sure as hell hadn't planned on having Beth in his room so when he nudged the door open with his foot he was grateful for his new habit of picking up after himself.

He set the young woman down on his bed and went straight to his night stand for the condoms. When he turned around he saw she'd removed her dress and bra and was lying back on his bed.

She was a sight, her golden hair splayed out across his pillow, golden skin and lean limbs calling out to him. He noticed things he'd missed in the cover of night, such as the beauty mark just above her belly button and the scar on her knee. He vowed to memorize every square inch of her body-after this encounter, of course.

Foil packet in hand he crawled over her, frowning when Beth pressed her lips together in a failed attempt to suppress a smile.

"What?" He asked, confused and a bit perturbed at the sudden levity.

"Don't ya think you're a bit overdressed?"

Daryl looked down and noticed he still wore his sleeveless shirt and, obviously, nothing else. He huffed but remained still while she did the honours ("_let me_," she'd said), popping the buttons one by one while he fiddled with the condom.

When his shirt had joined her clothes on the foot of his bed Daryl rolled the condom on and leaned over her, slowly pushing back in.

Beth hummed in pleasure, smiling up at him languorously. The urgency they'd felt earlier had dissipated, replaced with a desire to enjoy the moment. Daryl moved slowly and deliberately, focusing on the young woman's reactions, taking mental notes of what she seemed to prefer.

He noted how she pressed herself up against him when he kissed the crook of her neck, how her breath caught when he rolled her nipples between his fingers, and how she squirmed when he'd dragged his fingers lightly down her side.

Despite the slow pace, it didn't take long for Daryl to feel his impending climax. "I ain't gonna last," he admitted, groaning when he felt her squeeze her internal muscles, gripping him.

She threw him a mischievous smirk which he returned when he changed angles, making her gasp. "Two can play at that game," he said, focused on having her follow him over the edge.

When he felt her stiffen Daryl finally let go, his mind going blissfully blank as he came.

When they'd both come off their high, he rolled off her and discarded the condom in his trash bin and found himself erupting in goosebumps. The storm had taken the edge off the heat and the breeze blowing in through his window was much cooler than it had been that morning when it had hung heavy and sticky.

"C'mon, let's get under the sheets," he suggested when he felt Beth shiver. She followed him under the covers, curling her small body against his.

Daryl settled on his side, facing her. He looked at her, young and bright-eyed and beautiful as she was, and the same old feelings of doubt and self-deprecation settled back in despite his continued attempts at pushing them away. It would take more than a few days or even a few weeks to reprogram a lifetime's worth of negative reinforcement.

He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Why you wastin' yer time with me, huh? You should be with a nice boy closer to yer age."

She smiled at him with that patient, understanding smile that no one else had ever given him. "Maybe I want to be with a good man."

He let out a derisive huff and rolled onto his back, staring at the stained ceiling. A small part of him-the kicked puppy in him-resented Beth a little, for creating that spark of hope within him, for making him believe that maybe he wasn't cut from the same cloth as his father after all, that he was a better man than Will Dixon ever was.

As if she could read his thoughts, Beth shifted so she straddled him, effectively filling his line of sight. "Daryl Dixon, don't you let yourself think otherwise," she said sharply, her blue eyes blazing. "Next time I see Merle I'm gonna kick him for puttin' all those ideas in that head o' yours."

He wanted to tell her that it wasn't just Merle. Or his old man-well, not only them. It had been a lifetime of being pushed back down whenever he tried to get up, of being reminded that he was nothing, of being kept on the fringe of society 'for his own good'.

But he couldn't. Couldn't find the right words, told himself it wasn't the right time, somehow _knew_ he didn't have to tell her-that Beth'd be able to read him like she always did.

She stared down at him with a sober expression, quiet and observant. And then she seemed to make up her mind, as if she'd been waging an internal battle.

Reaching over, she placed a hand on each side of him and held herself up above him, looking down at him with a playful gleam in her eye. She leaned down, placing a kiss on his cheek.

Daryl saw through her motives and called her on it. "You tryin' to distract me?"

She bit her bottom lip, the corners of her lips pulling up into a smile. "Maybe," she admitted shyly. "Is it workin'?"

His eyes followed the swell of her breasts and the dip of her narrow waist before alighting on the thatch of curls between her legs. Whatever blood which hadn't already flowed south made its way there. "Not sure," he lied.

"Hmm..." She teased, tapping the side of her chin, pretending to think.

It was the playfulness that was alien to Daryl, the levity and the smiles and the 'devil may care' attitude that she'd brought to his life. It surprised him how easily he accepted it, how natural it felt to smile when he was in her presence.

"I know," she finally said in an apparent eureka moment. She leaned down, her breasts pressed against his chest, and traced the shell of his ear with her tongue. Her mouth peppered his jaw and throat with kisses, her breath hot against his skin.

"How 'bout now?" She paused to ask, looking up at him through her lashes.

"Gettin' there," he replied, his voice hoarse with need. He didn't want to admit that he was barely hanging on so soon after their first round.

Her lips travelled down his collarbone and continued lower, where she pressed the flat of her tongue over one of his nipples, blowing cool air against it.

When she moved even lower, alternating between licking and kissing and the occasional nip, Daryl had a sense of her intentions. "Beth..." He warned, voice gravelly with need, his better man waging war against his base desires.

"How about now," she whispered before taking him in her mouth.

"_Jesus Christ,_" he moaned, the heat of her mouth removing his ability to think straight. He watched her through hooded eyes as his cock disappeared between her lips; the sight of her stretched out between his legs, with her ass up in the air, was enough to drive him insane. Needing to see her as she pleasured him, he reached down and gently parted the curtain of hair that had fallen to block his view, playing with the loose tendrils.

For the first time in his life, Daryl found that he couldn't shut up. Merle would have laughed his ass off at how he was begging Beth at every lick, every suck, every time she took him in so deep he could feel her throat muscles close around the head of his cock. But Daryl didn't give a shit right then about anything other than the warm mouth slowly pushing him over the cliff.

When her hand joined the action, her small fist pumping in tandem with her lips, it became wet and slippery and noisy and _fuck _it was the sexiest thing he'd ever experienced. "Beth," he warned her when he just couldn't hold back anymore, "I'm gonna come." When she didn't pull away he came with a roar, his back arching off the bed, fingers gripping the bed sheet.

He lay there, catching his breath, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. Beth pulled away and he felt her lie back down beside him on the bed.

"Gonna have to take up runnin' if you keep that up," he commented once his breathing was back to normal.

Beth let out an amused huff. "I'm the one who did all the work."

Daryl opened his eyes and turned over onto his side, facing her. "Shit, Beth. I shouldn't be askin', but where the hell did you learn to give head like that?"

She stared at him evenly, her blue eyes sober. "Does it really matter?" She asked.

He held her gaze and shook his head. He didn't even have to think of it. "Naw, doesn't matter to me. Was jus' wonderin' cause it was so fuckin' good."

"Thanks," she replied. The sound of birds singing pulled her attention to the window. "Looks like the sun's back out. Let's see if we can make it out to the fair before everyone else does."

Daryl watched her get up and gather her clothes, and found that he actually looked forward to going to to the fair with Beth, to being the man who walked beside her.

For once in his life he'd have a reason to hold his head up proudly.

* * *

><p>Thanks to all for reading-take a few moments to leave your thoughts-it might seem like so little, but it means so much!<p> 


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